Kill Me Slowly
by madchilla
Summary: Take a glimpse into Rivaille's past. A side story for "The Cabin".


_A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, I'm taking so long on the next chapter for The Cabin, but this idea kinda just popped up and wouldn't leave me alone. So, let's take a small break and have a peak into Rivaille's secret past. I wasn't sure if I was going to include this particular section of his past in the story, which is why I wrote this. _

_Bare with me, there are a lot of warnings for this._

**Warnings: **Language, prostitution, smut**,** drinking, drugs, **rape**

_Please please please don't read this if any of those are triggering to you. To be honest, the last scene of this was super hard for me to write. What you read is not what's going on in my head. The scenario is much worse in my head, but I couldn't bring myself to write it. _

* * *

The gas station connecting to the truck stop was practically empty, save for the teenager behind the counter and a customer rummaging through the aisle, looking for sunflower seeds. I sat at one of the tables in the small cafe, also connected to the truck stop, scanning the ceilings to make sure I was in direct vision of the security cameras.

I've been waiting for a while—at least three and a half hours. The teeth prints in the Styrofoam cup I was drinking from was enough evidence that my patience was being tested. Perhaps I appeared agitated. The look I kept receiving from the worker proved it.

I felt him eying me suspiciously, and why wouldn't he? I'm a teenage boy at a truck stop at ten o'clock at night. I've been here for hours and only bought a damned Root Beer. Of course, the kid would be leery.

The woman wandering the store finally found the sunflower seeds and rang them up at the counter. When she left the store, it was just the worker and me. He looked young, though he was probably older than me if he was working at a gas station. I wondered if he'd gone to my school, not that it mattered to me.

I couldn't stand the people at the horrid place. The students, the teachers. Everyone was awful. I couldn't wait to get out of that shitty ass town. I stayed until the end of the school year and was on a bus less than twenty minutes after the graduation ceremony.

I heard rumors going around about me, but I couldn't care any less. I let them think what they wanted to think and left it at that. They didn't need to know the truth. They didn't need to know that they knew the truth.

Many people passed through the store, paying for gas, picking up lottery tickets or buying cigarettes. I observed all of them, but none particularly caught my interest. I waited for the perfect person, hoping that they would show up soon so I didn't have to deal with the accusing glances being thrown in my direction.

When the store was empty once again, the worker disappeared from behind the counter, only to come back with another foam cup. I kept my eyes down as he made his way to my table and held my breath as he set the cup down, hoping he wasn't going to kick me out.

"You looked thirsty," he said. The kid was ordinary looking—looked fresh out of high school. Maybe he did go to my school and recognized me. I prayed he didn't.

"I was, thank you." I pulled out my wallet to pay for the drink, even though I didn't have the money to spend.

The worker put his hand up. "Don't worry about paying for it. It's on the house. You've been here for awhile," he stated. "Are you waiting for someone?"

I suppose, technically I was. "Yeah, I'm waiting for someone."

The kid cocked his head to the side. "Who are you meeting here? It's kind of weird to meet up with someone at a truck stop, don't you think?"

It was none of his business. He had no idea. "Just a friend," I lied. "He knows the place and I know the place." Another lie. "Seemed like the best place to meet." That one was kind of true.

The worker nodded. "Ah, well, if you need to borrow a phone, just ask."

I thanked him, relieved that he wasn't making me leave.

I watched as more people came through the store, scanning each of them. That one was too big. He'd squish me like a bug. That one had a beard that could be used as a scarf and looked like it had food caught in it. Fucking gross. I was about ready to give up after the next guy walked in and I could smell his repulsive body odor from across the store, until another man came inside. The door jingled when he entered and his eyes immediately locked on to me. Well, I assumed it was me, but perhaps he was simply really craving a donut from the cafe.

He paid for a carton of cigarettes and pointed at the cafe, asking the worker something. The teenager nodded after he looked where the man was gesturing to. I guessed he asked whether it was open or not. Indeed, it was.

The man strolled down a few of the aisles, before stopping at the cafe. He sat down at a table adjacent to mine and simply sat there.

He wasn't attractive and certainly not my type, but he wasn't horrible to look at, either. He wore a hat and his face was clean of any hair. His attire seemed to be typical trucker clothes—a flannel shirt with blue jeans. My eye twitched at the sight of a stain on his white undershirt.

Fucking pig.

He lurched his head to the side, catching me staring. I quickly wiped any look of disgust off of my face, replacing it with a look of interest. "What?" He said, gruffly. The man was intimidating, but not as such that he'd scare me off. Sure, he seemed frightening. Like 'threaten you with a shotgun to get off of his lawn' kind of frightening. Not 'killed his wife and kids' kind of frightening. He could definitely hurt me if I wasn't smart. Too bad I am.

My eyes widened in feigned innocence innocence. "Oh, nothing. Sorry," I apologized with a soft voice. He turned his head from me, but I caught him peeking from the corner of his eye. I shifted in my chair, crossing one leg over the other in a fluent movement. "Hey." He looked back at me. "You got a truck out there?" I asked softly. The kid behind the counter was suddenly busy with a line of customers.

The man's eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, why?"

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my back. "Just curious." I sensed the up-down he gave me, and I smirked. I knew I looked good. Even after spending the evening with a bunch of sweaty teenagers wearing heavy robes in a stuffy gymnasium, I still looked appealing. My black hair was longish, barely passing my chin. I was thin, but definitely not lanky.

"Are you selling?"

My smirk grew. "It depends," I replied, cracking my neck on both sides. "What do you want and where are you going?"

"I'm heading up to Two Harbors. How much for a fuck?"

Ah, perfect. Going exactly where I needed to go. I thought for a moment, before deciding and answering with, "Fifty bucks and a ride to Duluth for a fuck." It was lower than my usual prices, but I figured a hundred dollars plus a ride would be pushing my luck.

"Done," he agreed and stood from his chair. "You ready to go?"

I got up from the table, as well. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom and freshen up, real quick. Do you mind?"

He said he didn't. Damn right, he didn't. The bathroom was in decent shape, and by that, I meant it was clean for a truck stop bathroom. Immediately, I dropped my pants and got to work with one of the few items I brought with me: a bottle of Maximus.

Preparing myself was an effortless task by now. I didn't prolong the act, simply stretching so I could do my job. However, I indulged in myself, groaning lowly when my middle finger just barely brushed against my prostate, knowing that was most likely the only pleasure I would receive for the night. With that, I deemed myself ready and pulled my fingers out and rushed to the sink. I hesitated before I left the bathroom, attention caught on the vending machine on the wall. I didn't ask the guy if he had a condom, but I assumed he did, considering what we were going to be doing.

I popped a quarter into the machine just in case and put the little package into my jeans' pocket before exiting the restroom.

He was waiting for me by the cafe. "Ready?" He asked as I approached him.

I nodded, stuffing my hands into my sweatshirt's pockets. "Yeah, I'm ready." I gave a small wave to the kid who was too preoccupied to witness our exchange. He smiles and waves back. He must have thought my 'friend' show up. Technically, he was right.

Just as we reached the exit door, I stopped suddenly and pointed at the ceiling corner. "Shit, look at that giant ass moth!" I faked excitement, but it did the trick.

The man looked up at the corner. "I don't see anything," he said, unamused.

_Yeah, but the camera saw you._

It was nice outside, despite it being so late. I was a step behind the man, following him to his truck. "Before we continue, you need to know my rules." I said as we neared a lone semi-truck in the parking lot.

"Go on," he huffed, not faltering in his pace.

"First, I want the money up front. No half before—half after bullshit. Second, and the most important, your mouth doesn't touch me, my mouth doesn't touch you. You're paying for a fuck. If you want me to blow you, it will cost extra." I paused to take a breath. "And lastly, don't even try to pull any funny shit. I have people expecting me up north and they will report me missing if I don't show up." That was a lie. "I had a long chat with the worker inside so he knows my face and will recognize me. If you decide to kill me and chuck my body into a ditch, it will be known that you were the last person I was with. You looked straight into a camera in the store. They know your face, so don't even dare try anything on me."

He stopped in front of the truck. "Is that it?"

I wracked my brain, trying to think of any more rules I had established for any other clients. "That's it." I couldn't think of any others. "Do we still have a deal?"

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple leather wallet. He fished through it before handing me two twenty dollar bills and a ten. "Yeah," he said.

I smirked and climbed into the passenger side of the truck. I unzipped my hoodie and took it off, hanging it on the head rest of my seat. I'd hate to get my favorite article of clothing dirty. "So, where are we doing this?" Hotel? Restroom? Alleyway? I've done them all.

He reached below his seat, pulled the lever and pushed the seat back as far as it could go. "How's right here?"

I raised an eyebrow, questioning him. Nonetheless, I threw my shirt off and worked on my pants button. Before slipping them out, I pulled the bottle of lube out of the pocket, along with the condom. "Here's just fine." I've worked in more confined places. "Do you have a condom?"

"Yeah, glove compartment."

There was a box exactly where he said they were. They definitely looked newer than the one I got from the bathroom. I grabbed one from the box and unwrapped it. The man was leaning back against the seat, waiting. He looked at me, expectantly. He didn't even unbutton his pants.

Fucking men can't do anything themselves.

I set the bottle and condom on the center console and leaned over to reach his pants. I swiftly undid the button and unzipped the zipper. There was no point in prolonging anything, so I shoved a hand down his boxers and pulled his cock out.

Ugh what an ugly dick that one was. Not only was it hairy, it was fucking small. His balls were old and wrinkly and sweaty. Fucking disgusting. I wrapped my hand around his dick and gave him a few slow strokes. The fucking pig got hard the moment I touched his dick. I rolled the condom onto him as soon as I could.

I leaned back into my own seat and pushed up my hips so I could shuffle out of my jeans and briefs. There was no way I was getting my only set of clothes dirty for fifty dollars. I took no time in straddling him and rubbing my hands on his chest. "Anything in particular you like?" Despite my repulsion, I managed to remain sensuous.

"I'd like my dick in your ass," he groaned when I ground my hips down.

I smirked and reached for the lube. "Patience, baby," I purred as I squeezed the gel onto my fingers and wrapped my hand around his cock. "I can't take someone as big as you dry." That was definitely the biggest, well _smallest_, lie I told that night.

He moaned, "You have a name, or something?"

I lifted up onto my knees and positioned myself right above him. "You can call me Corporal," I whispered as I lowered myself onto him. My mouth opened as he slid in deeper.

His eyes widened. "I've heard of you," he rasped when I was sitting completely on his lap.

"Mm, good things, I hope?" I leaned back against the steering wheel, thankful it didn't have a horn and I could rest my back without us getting caught.

He had his hands on my hips, blunt nails digging into my skin. "They say you're the best."

"Oh? Do they?" Of course they did, but I already knew that. "Aren't you lucky, then?" My breathing was still heavy. "You have me without even having to look for me." With that, I lifted myself back up and lowered back down.

The man let out a distasteful whine as I was seated once again. His horrid face was already beet red. I knew it wasn't going to last long. The faster I moved, the more sounds escaped from his lips. The moans and grunts coming from me were mostly forced, maybe a few tumbling out when he hit that spot inside of me.

At one point, he pulled my hips down and thrust up simultaneously, slamming into my prostate harshly. I cried out at the jolt shooting down my spine. He did it again and my back arched. The last time was the end for me. I didn't even realize I'd gotten hard at some point. My ass clenched around him as I came, panting.

That must have been the pushing point because he made the most ridiculous face and slammed into me one last time.

I remained on top of him, reveling in the orgasm I didn't expect to have. He seemed to be feeling the same way. I collected myself and got off of him, muttering a half assed apology when I noticed the cum on his shirt, but he waved me off. I slumped back into the passenger seat, breathing heavily. If I wasn't expecting a ride, I would have smacked that smug look off of his face. Yeah, he made me come, but I didn't have an orgasm in weeks and he kept hitting that spot. What can I say? It's sensitive.

Once my breathing evened out, I slipped back into my clothes, pulling the hood up on my sweatshirt when I suddenly got cold. I buckled the seat belt and pulled my knees up to my chest, leaving him to clean up himself.

He didn't say anything as he tucked himself back into his pants and started the truck. He didn't have to. That wasn't what he paid for.

Music coming from the radio filled the silence moments after the truck was started. It sounded something like classic rock, but I could never tell. I wasn't much into any music. If I'd even had an iPod, which I didn't, there would only be one song on it. It was from my favorite movie and was the only one I knew the words to.

I recognized the one playing, though. It must have been something my dad listened to in the car with me. I couldn't think of any other reason of why I would know the song.

The program cut to a commercial. I looked away from the window and to the digital clock on the radio's face. It was nearing eleven-fifteen and the man just merged onto the freeway. That meant we would arrive in Duluth around three-thirty in the morning.

I didn't have enough money for a motel room. I only had the fifty bucks I earned that night and the three hundred I got from selling my bucket of bolts car only days before, but that was money I couldn't spend. I needed to earn enough in Duluth to get a decent car I could take to the cabin. My old one could barely make it twenty minutes to the cities, let alone three and a half hours up north.

I sighed. I knew I would be sleeping outside the first few nights. I'd done it before, but that didn't make it any less pleasant. It got cold up north by the lake and all I had was my sweatshirt. I thought maybe I'd be lucky and pick someone up when I got there and convince them to get a room for the night. That would be, while unlikely, the most ideal situation. Though, I didn't doubt that word about me had reached a city such as Duluth.

As they said—I am the best.

An hour must have passed by then. We already passed the cities. I was surprised at the amount of vehicles on the freeway considering how late it was, though they were mostly semi-trucks like the one I was in.

"Why are you going to Duluth?" The man suddenly asked, breaking my trail of thoughts.

I looked away from the window, but not at him. "I already told you. I'm meeting people up there."

He hummed, remembering. "You're well known in the cities."

Duh. I already knew that. I didn't work my ass of the past few years for nothing. I earned exactly what I'd intended to. "Ah? Well make sure to tell your trucker buddies I'm up north now if they wish to find me."

I didn't say anymore and neither did he.

Another hour passed and the trees lining the freeway thickened gradually until we were passing through the forest. It seemed to resemble the setting of a horror movie—a prostitution deal gone wrong and hooker's body found covered in dirt, under some trees. I glanced over at him, unworried. I had already given him my warning. What he wished to do with it was up to him.

I rested my head against the window, staring out at the luscious trees, eerily swaying in the night. The sight was so haunting—so perfect. A part of me almost wished that the man would ignore my threat and do what he wished with me. Whether he drugged me, raped me or even killed me—that part of me couldn't care any less.

I wondered how he would do it. I thought about what he would use. Would he use a gun and shoot me before I could think twice? A knife and cut me into thousands of pieces? Maybe he'd give asphyxiation a try.

I wondered if he would show me mercy and make it quick—a bullet to the head or a slit throat would be nice. Though, I wouldn't be opposed if he drew out the process—excruciatingly slow, driving every ounce of pain I deserved into my body.

I liked the sound of that. I'm a special kind of masochist, I suppose.

I hoped he wouldn't bury me or even just leave me there in a ditch. Even if I was dead, being covered in blood and mud would be revolting. I swore to God if he left me drenched in my own blood, I'd come back to life and slice his tires after I sliced his throat.

I prayed he'd have the decency to wipe the filth off of my skin. Maybe he would string me up and hang me from branches by my limbs, displaying my vile body for the whole world to see. That's how I'd want to go, how I'd want to be found and remembered. Grotesque. Macabre. _Beautiful. _

A smooth guitar riff pulled me out of my thoughts. It was a song I never heard before, but it caught my attention immediately. Before the vocals even began, I said, "What song is this?"

He gave me the song and artist—both I didn't recognize. My eyes fluttered close as I focused on the words. I didn't know what drew me to it or how it latched onto me, but I fell in love with that song—its words, its music and its melody.

Its soothing aspect pushed away all thoughts of murder and death.

"How old are you, anyway, kid?"

My eyes narrowed when he interrupted my euphoric dance with the music. "Nineteen," I lied, not wanting to get into it.

He laughed, "No really, how old are you?"

I rolled my eyes, irritated that he was pushing it. Why would he even want to know if he already knew I was lying? I was clearly underage. Maybe he just wanted to know how many spikes Satan's dick would have when he fucked him in Hell.

"I just told you."

"But you were lying."

I mentally cursed him when the song ended. I only managed to catch the first chorus. "I'm nineteen. What's it to you, anyway?"

The man answered, "Just curious, is all."

"You paid for a fuck, not to ask me questions. If I wanted to be interrogated, I would have propositioned a cop or my therapist. Shut the fuck up and drive," I snapped. He looked like he wanted to hit me. I almost dared him to—it was a bitch thing to say. I didn't blame him. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back onto the road, gritting his teeth.

Instead of laying his hand on me, he asked, "Where in Duluth do you want to be dropped off?"

I thought about that for a few moments. I knew where I was going to go, but I didn't want the man to know where I planned on camping out just in case he felt the need to find me later. I never did business with the same person twice so no one fell for me, or, God forbid, I fell for someone. That wasn't likely, though.

"Canal Park," I answered with the most famous place in the city. It didn't seem strange or out of place and I could make it to First Street in no time.

He nodded and muttered something under his breath that sounded like an "Okay."

The rest of the ride was silent, save for the soft music.

The closer we got, the more I recognized the city limits. A year had passed since I was last there, but memories and maps filled my mind. We drove by the large movie theater and, immediately, I knew exactly where we were.

The man turned right at the Red Lobster and drove forward, heading towards the Aerial Lift Bridge. "Right here is good," I stated, looking around the seat and floor to make sure I had everything with me. The bottle of lube was back in my jeans' pocket and my money was tucked in the sole of my shoes.

He stopped the truck directly across from the Green Mill. I unbuckled my seat belt minutes before so when we came to a stop, I could jump out right away, which is exactly what I did. I was out of the truck and onto the sidewalk before we even stopped completely. I slammed the door shut, not thanking the man. He already got his 'thank you'.

I crossed the street to the restaurant before turning and making my way towards the bridge. I watched

as the semi drove by and waited until I could no longer see it when it crossed the bridge. As soon as it it did, I turned on my heel and started my trek toward my destination.

It took me about fifteen minutes to get to the corner of First Street and First Avenue, right in front of the Skinner. The street was relatively busy, despite the hour. Multiple cars drove by, some stopping at the corner to talk to the scantily clad women standing below the stoplight.

Catching the attention of someone here would be difficult for me. I could have dressed up, or dressed down, I guessed, but I knew that would attract the worst kind of pervert. Anyone looking for a hooker on that street was a pervert. Hell, it was the only place in the entire city where pedophiles could live. Of course they were all perverts.

I leaned back against the brick wall of the apartment building, arms crossed across my chest and desperately wishing I had a cigarette. I took in the surroundings around me. At least seven women were flouncing about, clearly looking for a job. I watched as one girl, who looked as young as me, perhaps even younger, got in a rusty, beat up car.

I broke one of my biggest rules that night: Don't get into a car with a client. It's asking for trouble. If a customer wanted to take me anywhere, I would go by foot. I didn't trust anyone. They could have a gun or they could be a cop. It would be hard to run away while buckled into a seat.

I witnessed some interesting exchanges while I waited. I saw a plethora of females getting picked up and dropped off at the street corner. I saw a couple of drug deals and I thought I even saw someone exchange a video game. Eh, it could have been kiddie porn for all I knew.

Someone else approaching the wall about two feet away from me barely made me flinch. He cupped his hands around his mouth and lit a cigarette. I peeked over at the scent. He turned his head and our eyes locked. "Mind if I bum a smoke?" I asked.

His eyes flickered down and back up. "Sure," he said as he exhaled a puff of smoke. He pulled a cigarette from a carton out of his pocket and placed it between my lips. "There you go."

I waited for him to light it, but he just stood there, looking at me expectantly. "You got a light?" I eventually asked, fed up with his staring.

"Oh, yeah." He fumbled around his pockets until he pulled out a small orange lighter. He flicked his thumb and touched the flame to the end of the stick.

"Thanks," I said with a puff.

He continued ogling at me as I smoked. I met his eyes with a raised brow, questioning him. He jabbed the butt of his cigarette into the brick. "How much for the night?"

I thought for a moment before spitting out my usual price, "Seventy and a room for the night." It was actually a little less than I usually advertised, but it was rare that I requested a room.

"That's a bit pricey, don't you think?" He stated.

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe for the other whores around here, but I'm not like the other whores," I established. "Go for one of them if you want to be cheap. I'm not so desperate that I'll lower my prices for someone the likes of you." That was technically a lie. I was pretty damn desperate, but I wasn't so reckless to display it. "But, I guarantee that none of them have anything on me."

I firmly believed that. All the girls paraded around wearing their corsets and garters with their breasts hanging out. I didn't see the appeal, but I guessed some preferred shameless over class. Not that I was classy, but I was far closer than the other whores.

"Seventy per hour and a room?" He clarified. I nodded. "Fine, but don't expect the Radisson or even a Holiday Inn."

I shrugged and allowed my cigarette to fall to the pavement, smothering it with my toe. "A bed is a bed," I justified.

He turned and began walking, expecting me to follow. I called out after him, "Wait." He halted about five feet away from me. "I want seventy up front. You can pay me for the rest, depending on how long you go, afterward."

He clicked his tongue, but nonetheless, pulled out a wallet from his back pocket. "Are you always such a bitch?" He asked, pulling the cash out.

I snatched the bills from his hand, cooing, "Oh honey, I'm not a bitch. I'm just simply laying down the law for johns like you, who think they can take advantage of me and get a free lay."

He began walking again. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't looking to pay."

He had a point.

The walk to the hotel he desired only took three minutes, maybe even less. Either way, I found myself standing in front of the Voyageur Lakewalk Inn, grimacing. I'd had my fair share of stays in seedy hotels, motels, love shacks—whatever. But that place, the Lakewalk, was exceedingly disgusting. I had to hold back a gag when we entered our room.

The room looked like somebody had eaten the entirety of the seventies and threw it up in there. The bedspread had some God awful paisley pattern and had stains. Jesus, I hoped that was coffee.

When he was in the bathroom, I took the liberty of removing that repulsive comforter. Trying to touch it as little as possible, I grabbed a corner with my thumb and index finger and pulled it off of the mattress, letting it fall onto the filthy floor where it belonged. The sheets weren't in much better condition, but at least there were no visible stains.

Once the bed was stripped, I slipped out of my sneakers and placed the money with the rest of my savings in my right shoe. I shrugged my sweatshirt off and pulled my T-shirt over my head. By the time he was out of the bathroom, I was already sprawled out across the bed, waiting.

Unadulterated lust crawled across his expression. He approached the bed and, just as his knees hit the mattress, I said, "You better have condoms."

He stripped out of his pants and pulled out a string of condoms from his wallet. "I wouldn't fuck a whore without one. Who knows what diseases a slut like you carries."

I scowled. "I'm fucking clean," I spat, but left it at that. He climbed on top of me and straddled my hips. He dove down with his lips puckered. I barely had enough time to jerk my head to the side and dodge the kiss. "Don't kiss me," I ordered.

He didn't kiss me, but my words didn't stop him from biting into my neck. The whine I let out was not one of erotica but one of disgust. Fucking revolting pig slobbering all over me. Gross.

The night, well morning, went by pretty quick. The more he fucked me, the more I felt my own control diminish. I hated being on bottom—well, not taking it or anything because I loved having my ass pounded. I meant I hated literally being beneath my clients. He had my wrists pinned the pillows above my head. I simply lied there, letting all of my authority slip from my fingers. It was easier than fighting him.

Not only were my hands restricted, but I couldn't direct his thrusts. God, I hated that position. His thrusts were clumsy, mediocre dick jabbing into me with no precision.

He collapsed beside me after he finished. I felt filthy. With the trucker and this man, the dirty sheets sticking to my sweaty back was the last straw. I tumbled out of the bed, barely announcing my dibs on the shower.

Thick fog filled the room by the time I was finished, making it more difficult to breathe. I took longer than I'd expected to, but I couldn't bring myself to leave the comfort of the warm water beating harshly on my back.

My hair was damp and my skin smelled of bland soap. I dried my body with one of the course towels hanging up before putting my only pair of clothes back on. I put the rest of the money the man gave me before I left for the bathroom into my shoe. Back in the main room, the man was lying on the bed, fast asleep and snoring. Perhaps my shower was a little too long. Perfect. I sneaked out with ease.

There was no way I'd sleep in that flea infested bed with that disgusting excuse of a human being.

When I stepped out of the hotel room, I saw it was still dark, but the sun was just peeking up. It took me no time to get back to the Skinner apartments. The street was far less crowded than it was a couple of hours before. One person, I couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman since their face was down, leaned against the wall with a blanket wrapped around them. The only other person on the street was a man standing below the stoplight, no doubt selling of the unconventional sort. I would normally indulge, but I didn't have the money to spend on such a luxury. At that time, anyway.

I held my breath as a police car drove by, slowly and stopped at the light. The officer rolled down the window and called out the man below the light. I decided then would be the best time to make my exit.

It was hard to find work during the day, considering most of my customers were working men that could afford a night with me.

The sun was just starting to rise when I made it back to the main street. It was far too early for the music store to be open, but I went to the doors to check their hours, anyway. I had to wait just a few more hours.

Until then, I found the nearest coffee shop and asked for a cup of ice water. I figured then would be a good time to catch up on some sleep. An empty table in the corner of the shop was the greatest and quietest place I could find. I'd long mastered the art of sleeping in any position, anywhere. This place was one of the easy ones. I downed my water and climbed into the booth, so my back rested in the corner of where the wall and booth met. I pulled my legs up to my chest and threw my hood over my head, tucking my face into my knees.

That was the best sleep I'd gotten in a while.

* * *

The crowd around me was incredibly noisy, not that I expected it to be any different in a place like that. It was getting late. I entered the bar around one in the morning, and remained seated still, twenty minutes later.

I was surprised that I was _surprised _that they didn't card me at the door, or when I ordered a beer on tap, but what did I expect? This was the shadiest bar in all of Duluth. I turned on the stool and peered across the large building, looking for seemed vulnerable. Maybe a guy who lost his job or someone whose girlfriend dumped him. Maybe I'd get super lucky and find a man whose wife just filed for divorce.

There were a few solemn looking men sitting alone at various tables and booths. Eventually, I would go up to one of them and put on my comforting act. I needed to pick which one fast, though, considering the bar was going to close soon.

The bartender gave me an odd look when I asked for another beer. He probably thought why a kid, clearly underage and underweight could tolerate two beers within an hour. Nonetheless, he brought the drink to me.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting I had about a half an hour before the bar closed. That was the perfect amount of time to finish my drink and pick someone up.

My eyes locked on a man in the corner booth. He wore grey suit and was fiddling with the straw in his glass, looking coldly at the face of the table. I figured a man who wore a suit on a Saturday must have been someone very dedicated to their job. Why he looked so cold and upset didn't interest me one bit.

I took the last sip from my glass and checked the clock again. The bar closed in fifteen minutes. I waved the bartender over to pay for my drinks. He set a short glass down in front of me filled with something orange or yellow. I shook my head. "Can I have my tab, please?"

The bartender nodded. "I don't know what your problem is, but you look troubled and I made an extra drink. It's on the house."

My eyebrow raised, but I didn't question him and took the drink. Free booze. Sweet. I wasn't a huge fan of vodka, though. I easily finished the screwdriver and chased it down with a glass of water. I had work to do.

I paid for my drinks and crossed the bar to the man still sitting in the corner booth. He looked up when I plopped into the seat across from him. "Why so glum?" I buzzed.

His expression contorted to one of confusion. "What's a kid like you doing in this place?" He questioned.

I countered it with another question of my own, "What's a good looking, successful man doing in this place? Surely there's better bars, more appealing to a man such as yourself."

"This one was the quickest and cheapest," he answered curtly.

I leaned over the table. "You seem tense," I purred. "Perhaps you need some help unwinding." He smirked and I mimicked the expression, knowing he was on the same page. I let out an exasperated sigh. "If only you could find someone willing to help you relax..."

"You don't know anyone?" His smirk grew.

"I m-might."

He said something else, but his voice suddenly disappeared. My peripheral vision blurred and my head felt like it was spinning. "What did you say?" The feeling disappeared as soon as it came.

Smile dwindling slightly, he repeated, "I asked if it's a favor, or if you're a pro."

I scrunched my eyes shut. His voice sounded so far away, even though we was less than three feet away from me. "Can't it still be a favor if I'm a pro? Think of it as a _slightly more expensive _favor."

He opened his mouth, but I missed what he said again. My head felt so heavy, yet so light at the same

time, and not to mention fuzzy. My eyes closed and my head nodded forward before snapping up again. By the time I came to it, the man's grin had been wiped off. "Forget it," he snapped. "I don't have time for drugged up whores."

I wanted to curse him out. I wasn't on drugs—a few drinks were in my system, but, for once, no drugs. I didn't have the money for such a pleasure. I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but he was gone before I knew it, leaving the seat across from me empty.

My eyelids drooped and my head fell forward, hitting the face of the table, leaving the world around me dark.

* * *

I groaned when I felt my body waking up. My head rolled to the side as my lips parted and I took in a deep breath. I couldn't remember falling asleep. My eyes opened and scanned the room as best they could. Everything blurred together. I had no idea where I was.

I raised my hands above my head and stretched, delighting in my joints popping. My eyelids slipped shut again as I yawned. My back was sore—I knew that much. The floor I was lying on felt like tile or concrete.

I pushed myself up with my elbows and hands, grimacing at the pain in my lower back and ass. Normally, I would've been concerned considering I had no idea where I was, but my pounding headache overpowered that logic.

Goosebumps rippled across my body when a draft hit. My eyes snapped open when I realized that I was completely naked. My sudden surroundings hit me like gun shots. The room looked like some kind of outdated game room or arcade with dull lighting and no windows. Numerous articles of clothing were strewed upon pieces of furniture and game tables.

I gasped, covering my mouth to prevent the sound from escaping when I saw someone else lying on the floor, void of any clothing. I spotted another, and another.

I counted a total of ten other men, fast asleep on the cold floor, none of which were clothed or I recognized. Except for one. The bartender rested peacefully below a pool table.

Sudden realization hit me. I knew what must have happened, but I couldn't remember any of it. My eyes squeezed shut and I racked my brain for answers. I remembered paying for my tab. I remembered having my last drink. I remember talking to the man in the suit.

That was it.

That was all I remembered.

My eyes darted across the room, searching for any of my clothes. I found them in a pile a few feet away from me. I shot to my feet, wincing as I did. I could feel the dry cum flaking between my legs. Some hadn't dried and trickled down my leg. I tried not to panic and keep my thoughts together. I quickly pulled up my briefs, frowning at the multiple bruises and bloody bite marks among my body.

Cum had dried on my chest as well, leaving my skin irritatingly itchy beneath my shirt.

I stepped over needles and other spilled substances as I searched for my sweatshirt and shoes. They were beside each other in a lone corner of the room. I slipped my shoes on, cursing that my money was no longer inside of them. I didn't even care. I just wanted to get out of there, wherever it was.

There were two doors in the room, one of which labeled "Supplies." I approached the other, more promising door. Before I knew it, I was back inside of the bar. I made a mad dash to the exit, leaving that all behind me. I probably looked suspicious—a teenager with my appearance running so determinedly—but I couldn't give any less of a shit.

I sprinted, despite the ache I felt coursing through my body, to the nearest fast food restaurant. I assumed it was past six in the morning and prayed that some place was open. I rushed into a Burger King that was busy with the church crowd. I felt the accusing glares people threw at me as I trudged by. I had no idea what condition my face was in, but judging by the looks, it wasn't very good.

The bathroom thankfully wasn't occupied. I locked the door behind me and immediately stripped out of my clothes, not wanting to get them any more dirty than they already were. I barely flinched when I saw my reflection in the mirror. No wonder people were giving me the stink eye...I had fucking jizz on my face. Not only that, but I had a bruise below my left eye and a split lip. Fantastic.

I grabbed enough paper towels from the dispenser to kill an entire forest and began washing up. The cum went first, off of my face and the rest of my body. My legs were starting to chafe from it. After, I delicately cleaned the blood from my lip. It stung, but when the blood was gone, I saw that it was barely a cut. I scowled, knowing it most likely came from the nick of a tooth.

The dirty towels were thrown in the trash bin next to the door. I made my way to the line leading to the front counter. I had no money, but asked for a cup of water.

My thoughts were racing by the time I left the restaurant. I'd been running so mindlessly, it took me a moment to figure out where I was, relieved I was back in Canal Park by the bridge. With my head down, I walked slowly to the pier, heading toward the light house.

The cup of water was empty, but I held onto the container, anyway.

As I walked, I wished I could even attempt to piece my jumbled thoughts together. That was it. There were no thoughts to link. I knew I was drugged. There was no other explanation. I figured it was the bartender who did it, since no one else had access my drinks. What happened after that was a mystery to me. I thought I had a pretty good idea, but nothing was for sure.

I was raped.

I was drugged and raped.

Was I awake for it?

There were ten other men.

Did I allow them to do it?

Some, if not all of them, came inside of me.

Had I asked for it?

I fell to my knees as a sob tore from my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut but tears still escaped and poured down my cheeks. My whole body jerked and shook as I cried on the middle of the dock.

Was that really what I'd become? A dirty little whore that allowed himself to get drugged and gang raped. They took my money, but more importantly, they took my pride and dignity. In a career such as mine, I had to establish a grounding point and my pride and dignity were it.

I was always safe, taking the best precautions, whether it be location, condoms or even who I chose to hook up with. I'd prided myself with my ability to remain safe in a dirty world with such a lewd occupation.

But that was gone.

I unknowingly let my guard down.

I was no longer safe in a world like that.

I no longer had that dignity.

I only had one thing left to ground myself on—that kept me going.

Fear.

* * *

_A/N: You'd think that's the end, but it's not. _

_Hello all! Thank you so much for getting this far. I hope I didn't disturb you too badly. _

_I just want to make a little note on updating for The Cabin. I'e been super good with updating, updating every week or so, but then this thing just happened and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. _

_The ending wasn't supposed to be like that. I had no intentions of hurting Rivaille because he's smart and knows what he's doing, but then this scenario played through my head and wouldn't let me go. _

_Writing about rape or sexual abuse is incredibly hard for me for personal reasons, and it takes a lot out of me when I do. If you think the ending and the situation is bad, it's even worse in my head. I can visualize every little thing that happened to him during the rape, but I couldn't bring myself to write it down. _

_That being said, I'm going to take a small break for a week or so-maybe even less, and just not write. I promise that after that, I will be back on track with The Cabin and providing you all with your lovely fluff! _


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